Author: Kristie Leigh
left my heart shattered.
side since.
give it a shot one day.


Sam Wylde is ready to prove he’s more than just the privileged son of a wealthy Southern dynasty.
Wyldefire Whiskey is poised to take Nashville by storm—and with any luck, overshadow the scandal of his cheating ex-girlfriend marrying his brother. The only problem? This gruff country boy has no idea how to throw a launch party that will get people talking.
The answer to everything might just be Holly Glen.
A party wrapped up in one tiny woman, Holly is tattooed, tempting, and exactly the event planner Sam needs to liven up his brand—and his life. He can give her what she needs, too.
All it will take is a ring on her finger.
Falling in real love with his fake wife was not part of the plan—but one shot of Holly isn’t going to be enough.

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“You cannot do this to me, Cassie,” Sam Wylde argued over the speakerphone attached to his truck’s dashboard. He cringed as his Southern drawl came out a little thicker than usual. Frustration did that to him, and right now it was taking everything in him to not start cussing.
With a deft twist of his wrist, he steered his truck into the parking lot next to Town Hall, cutting off another car with a halfhearted wave of acknowledgement. He needed to pick up several permits before the city offices closed, leaving no room for pleasantries.
Damn, for a Saturday, the lot sure is packed.
He sighed and forced his attention back to the phone call. “We’ve got a few months until the launch of the entire brand. Everything I’ve done the last two years is riding on this.”
“I’m really sorry,” Cassie, his event planner, said from the other end of the phone. Or former event planner, apparently. “But I can’t be in two places at once, and neither can my influencers and vendors. We’re booked for that day now.”
Teetering on the brink of exploding, Sam breathed in slowly. “But. You. Signed. With. Us. First.” He ground the words out slow and steady.
“Technically, I haven’t signed an actual contract. I was helping you out as a favor to Noah,” Cassie informed him. “And where I go…so do my connections.”

Aside from being a Top 10 Barnes & Noble and Amazon Bestseller, Sarah Robinson is a native of the Washington, DC area and has both her Bachelors and Masters Degrees in criminal psychology. She works as a counselor by day and romance novelist by night. She owns a small zoo of furry pets and is actively involved in volunteering in her community.
Subscribe to her newsletter at www.subscribepage.com/sarahrobinsonnewsletter



I’d prepared myself for a life without love. Lost my parents and anyone else I got close to. Nothing good ever stays for long. I’m a statistic after all. Former foster kid. Former drug addict, alcoholic. Always thought I was destined to be alone. Always felt like I wasn’t worth a damn.
Then Carla Evans walked into my life.
One look at her in that uptight, buttoned-up outfit and I knew I had to have her. For a night, I’d indulge myself in the fantasy of a girl like her actually wanting a guy like me.
Then she moved here with no job and that ridiculous bucket list.
I knew she needed my help.
I just didn’t expect to need hers.
I spent a long time letting myself believe I didn’t deserve happiness. It took me a while (and a whole lot of therapy) to realize I’d had it all wrong.
Now I know.
And now I have to tell her.
*This new adult romance flip-flops between the past and present, following TJ’s difficult journey to get to where he is now. Fighting the Odds deals with sensitive topics like drug abuse, death, foster care, homelessness, and miscarriage. But it is also an inspirational story of love, friendship, hope, and finding your inner warrior.

Carla
“I’ll take a Corona, please.”
I hand the bartender my fake ID and settle against the back of my stool. She pops the top off the bottle and slides it my way. I take a long swig.
“You don’t strike me as the beer type.”
I hold my hand up without looking at who the deep voice belongs to. “Save your energy for someone else, please.” Can’t a girl sit alone at a bar without being hit on?
“It doesn’t really take much energy to have a conversation, but thanks for your concern.”
I roll my eyes and take another few gulps of my beer. I pretend to watch the TV above the bar, though I can feel the stranger’s eyes on me.
“Who are you rooting for?” he asks.
“What?”
“The fight you’re staring at so intently. Who are you rooting for?”
“I’m not rooting for anyone. MMA is a barbaric sport. How these guys get paid mega bucks to beat each other up is beyond me. Just another testament to our Neanderthal society.”
“Those guys aren’t just beating each other up.”
I gesture toward the screen. “Those two dudes are throwing punches at each other. That guy is bleeding profusely from his nose. They certainly aren’t doing ballet.”
The stranger chuckles. “Okay, so they are fighting. But there’s more to it than that. It takes skill and training to do what they do.”
“Oh, look. Now they’re on the ground. That guy’s going to lay on top of the other one for the next five minutes. You’re right. Looks like they’ve had a lot of training.” I drain the rest of my beer and stand. So much for enjoying a drink alone.
“You should stay and watch the fight. I’ll prove to you just how much skill these guys have.”
I spin around to face the annoying stranger, allowing myself to look at him for the first time.
Holy muscles.
I clamp my mouth shut to keep it from falling wide open. Brawny. Strapping. Muscular. Built. None of the words coming to mind seem adequate enough to describe the Herculean god sitting before me. It’s almost a sin he covered himself up with all those tattoos. Almost. The intricate pieces of art twist around his muscular arms, all the way down to his knuckles. A tease of ink pokes out of the neckline of his shirt, stopping halfway up his neck. Every inch of his body has trouble written all over it.
His face though … his face is a different story. It’s so handsome it looks like it doesn’t belong on his body. The icy-blue of his eyes is warmed by his smile, which is complete with a set of dimples. A backwards baseball cap covers his hair, but his thick brows and scruff peppering his chiseled jawline are as dark as a cup of coffee.
He’s an oxymoron. The face of an angel with the body of Satan himself. A dark ray of light. A friendly nemesis. The man is menacingly beautiful.
And I’m gawking. I clear my throat and try to remember what it was he’d asked me. “I’ve had a long trip. I’m going to call it a night.”
“Where you coming from?”
“Florida. Just arrived.”
“And the first place you come to is a bar?”
My eyes narrow and I prop my hand on my hip. “Don’t judge me. You don’t know a thing about me.”
His hands shoot up. “Hey, I wasn’t judging. I was just making an observation.”
“Well, don’t do that either.”

Kristen Granata is a teacher by day, and an (exhausted) author by night. Known for writing emotional New Adult Romance, she loves creating realistic, flawed characters who struggle through the darkest parts of life and come out stronger on the other side. Kristen is a self-proclaimed “bitter cynic trapped in a hopeless romantic’s body.” Her characters pack a sarcastic punch, make you laugh, make you think, make you ugly cry – and they will always live happily ever after. If you’re a lover of moving, inspirational reads, Kristen’s your girl.
Kristen was born in Brooklyn, New York in 1986. She moved to Staten Island with her family and lived there for almost twenty years. There she attended community college and became a teacher. Despite her passion for writing, and despite her professors strongly suggesting she become a writer, she took the more sensible route (bitter cynic, remember?) After going through a difficult divorce when she was only twenty-nine, Kristen returned to writing. The raw story that poured out of her led her to publish her debut novel, Collision, in March of 2018. Soon after in August 2018, the sequel, Avoidance, was published. Her third novel, The Other Brother, released in April 2019.
Kristen openly shares her mental health struggles with depression and anxiety with her Instagram following. Her message is a beacon of hope to anyone who is suffering: You are not alone. She delicately weaves this theme into her writing, and demonstrates the ability of love to heal trauma.
When she’s not teaching or writing, Kristen is reading, Instagramming, indulging in her messy love affair with popcorn, and annoying her wife and step-daughters by incessantly singing along to The Greatest Showman soundtrack.


Secrets.
Deceptions.
Tragedies.
Those were the root of all evil. One of those became the root of mine the day I lost the love of my life. My best friend. My lover.
Everyone disregarded it, saying, “Let’s face it, Averie, you have the rest of your life ahead of you.” They were wrong. James Lawrence was my ever after . . . until Ashton.
If only he didn’t come bearing his own brand of evil.
A secret.
The reason he wanted me to stay away.
I should have listened, and he should have tried harder, but both of us failed. And if we hadn’t, if he had told me when we first met, would it have altered the moment I realized that I was falling for him?
The slight variation in the air. The hitch in my breath. The lightness in my chest.
Impossible to know; I’d already fallen.
I was already ruined.
***A standalone sports romance that takes place in senior year high school. Due to explicit content, this book is suitable for 17+


My lips pressed to hers. “You can touch me anywhere.” I kissed her again. “It’s whatever you want, Averie.”
I would be lying if I said I hadn’t been masturbating to images of her—every fucking day. Especially after talking to her on the phone at night. Her voice held this sexy rasp that sent all kinds of signals to my cock each time she spoke, and the wrong signals, too. It wasn’t the let’s-be-friends kind. It was the let-me-spread-your-legs-and-have-you-for-dessert kind, let-me-make-you-come-on-my-cock kind. And as we began to make out again, it remained in the back of my mind that I needed to tell her about my condition.
Kissing was okay.
Touching was okay.
But anything more than that, and I would have to tell her first. It wouldn’t be anything short of a betrayal if I didn’t. She wasn’t like the other three I’d slept with, she was more, I felt it every time I so much as looked at her.
Her hand moved over my zipper, and my cock lurched in my jeans, and as she began to caress me, a groan caught in my throat.
Fuck. Take my cock out if you want, I told her with my kiss. Whatever you want, Averie. Oh, fuck yes . . .
Her grip tightened around my dick as she continued to work it through the material, all I could think was how much I wanted to feel her bare hands on me.
With me on the brink of insanity, my lips crushed to hers, desperate with need.
After pressing myself into her hand, I rolled onto my back and flicked my belt from the loop, undoing it and my button in two seconds flat before yanking my zipper down. As her eyes shifted to my hand shoving at my jeans and then the tent pole situation in my boxers, I watched her.
Her fingers glided over my abs and under the waistband of my boxers, and inside to grip my cock.
Oh, fuck.
My head fell back, and a heavy breath passed my lips as my eyes closed.


Some years ago, Casey rediscovered her passion for writing and hasn’t stopped writing since. Her favorite genre is romance with edge which is why she writes sexy, funny, sweet, and emotional stories that are a little bit more in depth, but so much fun to read.


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